WindSwept Narrows: #15 Rose Maddock

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “Here? You want me to go here?” Rose knew her voice was a little on the high side and her feet were a little on the unmoving side, making him stop and lift her over the threshold and into the exclusive salon.

  “Rose…will you…” He worked hard to keep his laughter inside at the stunned expression on her face, his free palm extended to the woman who approached them. “Thank you so much for your help, Ms. Alister.”

  “Last minute problems are our specialty, Mr. Flannary. Please, we will have her ready in no time at all,” promised the older woman, hands clasped as she studied Rose with a critical eye. “How long do we have?”

  “Twenty minutes,” Ryan turned her and bent his head to meet her eyes, slightly glazed over and amazingly wide. “I have a few things to finish. I’ll be back in twenty-five minutes, Rose, alright? Just trust them and me and thank you,” he kissed her again, his groan kept locked inside his brain at the sweet taste of her lips against his.

  Rose nodded and watched him abandon her.

  Yes, abandon, she repeated the word with a frown around at the amenities offered by the salon. She was only vaguely aware of the palm on her elbow guiding her toward the back.

  “We’ll set this over here, into the chair, please,” Ms. Alister took the pack from her fingers and helped her remove the bulky sweater. “We’ll bundle all this and have it returned to your suite, Mrs. Flannary.”

  Rose sat back in the hair dressers chair and sighed, watching a younger woman come in from the side. She probably should have protested. About something, especially their assumption of her relationship with Ryan. But somehow it was easier to accept all this thinking she was his wife instead of the other names that came to mind.

  “A very rush appointment, Jean,” Ms. Alister carefully removed Roses’ sneakers, laying them next to her pack. “Sparkling green toes…”

  “Umm…St. Ryan’s Day…pedicures are a weakness,” Rose said with a crooked smile.

  “I think that’s the theme, Jessica,” Jean looked over Rose with a thoughtful nod. “We want sophisticated and elegant. Are you alright?” She asked at the odd expression filling Rose’s features.

  “Oh…fine…we were supposed to play racquetball,” Rose murmured softly, sitting still when another young woman began working with her hair and gliding a cart over filled with makeup.

  “Ahh…business surprises can be annoying,” Jean agreed with a chuckle. “I’m thinking a little black dress, but in emerald, Jessica. With a pair of comfortable open toed heels…and a wrap…”

  “He left this…so perhaps he had the theme already in mind,” Jessica Alister handed her the small velvet box.

  “Perfect…what size are you, Rose? Six?” Jean looked from head to toe. “About five foot nine…”

  “Eight…and eight shoes…” Rose heard her voice whisper and closed her eyes.

  “The emerald green is perfect. Off shoulder and just touching her knees,” Jessica nodded. “Young and flirty without being garish or tawdry. And the emerald will go marvelously with her hair color.”

  “I’ll bring out the red highlights in her hair for you. She’s got good hair…healthy. Give me five minutes,” the young girl at her side promised, applying make up carefully and issuing instructions for Rose to blink or look up.

  Rose began to worry when she was led behind the wide changing screen, her clothes removed and only panties remaining as the silken feeling dress was held out for her to step into. It was shimmied carefully over the rise of her hips and zipped behind her, the slender spaghetti straps on her shoulders and band of emerald on each upper arm.

  She absently watched Jessica Alister make marks on a sheet of paper attached to a small clip board. Rose closed her eyes when ordered as a spray of a nicely dark and sexy perfume drifted into her senses at the same time she felt a chill of something come to rest around her throat. She opened her eyes to see the thumb nail sized shamrock at her throat before she took in the entire woman staring back at her.

  “Last…a simple matching wrap,” she laid the feathery light weight piece of fabric over Rose’s arm, taking her hand and twirling with an approving nod. “Delightful. Nice work, ladies. Mrs. Flannary…your husband’s taken care of all the paperwork and I’ll see your pack is delivered to your suite. Any time we can be of service, please, just let me know.”

  “I…thank you…all of you…” Rose walked cautiously on the heels, breathing a sigh of relief at the genuine comfort in the heels. She stared for a long minute at the image in the mirror, memories coming back of occasions from her past and she shivered slightly.

  A tiny voice asked if she knew what she was getting herself involved with but there was no answer offered. She applied a soft, social smile and lifted a palm, fingers waving at the woman she turned from and wandered into the corridor, unaware of the people watching her.

  Rose stood peering into the shop of fancy pastries, half seeing the shimmer of lights off the red highlights they had brought out in her hair when he appeared in the glass at her side. She turned to face him, the corner of her lip caught between her teeth as she met his stare. She wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected, one amber colored brow lifted slightly.

  “Ryan?”

  “I’m at a loss for words,” he said, surprise evident in his tone. “Amazing. Stunning…emerald suits you,” he said softly, taking both her hands in his and turning them toward the restaurant.

  “They seemed to be under the impression I was your wife,” Rose commented as they walked, watching a slight grimace on his face. “You let them think that? Why?”

  “It was easier than trying to explain things. I truly do appreciate this, Rose.”

  “I haven’t dressed up like this in ages,” she said quietly, enjoying the way they fit together as they strolled toward the expansive entrance.

  “I’m trying to remember that you’re the woman who wiped the court with me last night,” he teased.

  Rose couldn’t stop the bubbling laugh, her head against his arm with a tight hug. “Not quite, as you won.”

  “But there will always be a rematch,” he promised, his head up, instinctively turning to meet an approaching couple of their same age, the woman tall and dark haired, stately and suited to his friend, Jean Paul. Ryan tightened his hold on Rose’s palm where it rested on his arm. His smile broadened, a smile offered to long time friends.

  “Rose, this is Jean Paul and his wife, Renee’…very old friends of mine.”

  Rose listened to the slight inflection in his words and extended her palm, digging deep for a past where she was immersed for over four years in the French countryside.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you both. I hope your trip to the area has been pleasant?” Rose smiled from one to the other, their handshakes warm.

  “You speak French! How wonderful!” Renee’ smiled happily, holding her husbands arm and studying Rose. “I have been having a marvelous time though I do miss our daughter.”

  “I apologize in advance as my French is vastly underused. I spent four years at a girl’s school outside of Paris, to the south.”

  “The Bordeaux International?” Renee’ dropped her husband’s arm and moved to link arms with Rose.

  “Yes, though I understand it is now a co-ed school. Grandmother and I lived…”

  Ryan guided them into the restaurant, his voice low as he spoke with Jean Paul, the men chuckling as the women recalled teachers, classes and escape routes for a day’s freedom.

  “It appears our wives have a great deal in common,” Jean Paul glanced at the chatting pair and seeing two girls lost in memories.

  “I had no idea she escaped from school that much,” Ryan commented, laughing at the wrinkled nose Rose offered.

  “I suffer from blaring moments of rebellion,” Rose admitted with a laugh shared by Renee’. She spent the next hour and a half listening, laughing and watching Ryan and his friends, their speech bouncing from French to English and back again. Both declined dessert, Rose glancing at Renee’ wi
th a grin. “Why don’t we leave them to business? I can show you around the shops and we can talk.”

  “I would love that! I am supportive of business, but at times it encroaches,” she leaned over and kissed her husband.

  “We can meet you in the lounge,” Rose suggested, about to stand up when she felt Ryan take her palm to his lips.

  “Give us forty-five minutes,” he stood up and brushed the back of his fingers over her face before moving his lips over hers. “Thank you.”

  Rose discovered it was easy to chat, walk and shop and enjoyed the time window shopping with the younger woman. Both of them were in girl heaven when they entered the doll shop, easily eating up their time and exiting with two large boxes for her daughter.

  “She is barely five and loves her dolls so very much. These are amazing!” She glanced over her shoulder at the American Girl’s shop. “I will hide one for Christmas.”

  They were still laughing and talking when they entered the lounge, peering around in the dim, large main room. They stood chatting and glancing around, several smaller alcoves branched off and unable to be searched without wandering through the lounge. Rose was about to suggest that when a waiter came up to their sides.

  “Mrs. Flannary? Your husband asked that I watch for you, they’re in the far left alcove, it’s a little quieter in there,” the young man gesturing them forward.

  “Oh, thank you…”

  Jean Paul glanced from the laughing women to his friend. “I am glad to see Renee enjoying herself. And most happy to see you settled and actually smiling. It’s in your eyes this time, not just on your lips.”

  “And you’re a good enough friend to know the difference,” Ryan admitted with a slight laugh. “Barely twenty minutes late,” he remarked with a wink at Rose.

  “We were doing fine until we found the doll shop,” Renee’ admitted with a sigh, setting her purchases on the table. “Celeste will adore these.”

  “Nothing caught your attention, Rose?” Ryan let his arm rest on the back of her chair, a tall glass of ice water with a slice of lime waiting for her.

  “It’s always wonderful to window shop, especially in the resort shops,” she looked at each of them. “All business done for the night?”

  “We have worked things out to our mutual satisfaction,” Jean Paul said with a confident nod. “We will be returning in the summer for a much longer visit, once the building begins.”

  Rose listened absently to their discussion of summer vacation and things to enjoy around the Sound area. She enjoyed listening to the conversation about their business and asked questions, that in turn, prompted Renee’ to ask questions, making both men sit up and think on some of their answers.

  Chapter Four

  It was after nine when they parted and went to the elevators, going off in their respective directions. Rose looked over at him as they waited for the doors to part.

  “My things are in your room, Ryan,” she paused, glancing down at the palms clasp between them. “I’m a little uncertain about…well, these clothes and…”

  “I’ve no use for them, sweet,” he said, humor lacing the edge of Irish in his voice. “Emerald suits you, Rose…”

  “All because I have my toes painted for St. Patrick’s Day,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m not sure Jessica Alister believed I was salvageable. She looked a little dubious when you dragged me in there.”

  “You were fine as you were, Rose. Don’t doubt that. Jean Paul and Renee’ are long time friends and would have understood if you appeared in jeans and tee shirt. They know we had other plans, I told them when they let me know they had arrived early,” Ryan led her into the elevator, grateful they were finally alone. He leaned on the solid brass rail and tapped the floor he wanted. He lifted her palm and eased her closer. “However…you would have been uncomfortable and self-conscious if I had allowed that to happen and that, I couldn’t allow to be.”

  “You’re pretty good with those words,” she said softly, not stepping closer as the elevator doors opened. She could hear the pounding in her chest, felt it ripple through her temples and not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, heard herself questioning her choices, her feelings.

  “Does it worry you?” Ryan straightened up, striding casually along the wide hall to his room. He reached into an inner pocket and slid the key card into place, shoving the door wide for her.

  “I’ve thought about that,” Rose admitted, entering the room slowly. She felt her eyes widen a little more. It wasn’t just a room, her mind whimpered, gazing around as Ryan moved in front of her, hands flipping a light switch on. It was a suite. A huge U shaped sofa, tables, TV, a small kitchen area. Rose moved while her feet were still willing to listen to her, crossing the thick, cushioned carpeting and stopping at the view of Puget Sound spread far below her. Crystal raindrops splattered now and then on the double glass door, her palm up to feel the cold radiated through her skin. Maybe a jolt, she mused, to make her think more clearly.

  “Rose?”

  “It’s a lovely room,” she swallowed, turning to face him, her gaze falling on the familiar backpack sitting on the corner of the sofa. Knees wobbled a bit as she moved and sunk onto the cushions. Rose sighed and leaned back, softness behind her head and eyes closing. “It’s been a strange couple days. Mild, I’m sure by most standards, but strange.”

  “Hmm…so this is basically overload?” Ryan sat a few feet away, reached down and slipped the heels from her feet, grinning at the surprise on her face when her head popped up, eyes wide. “They really are emerald green,” he let the heels fall to the floor and turned her legs until she was lying on the sofa, her feet in his lap.

  “Ryan, I’m not sure…you don’t really want…ohhhh…” Rose sighed thickly, a shiver racing along her body, from toes to head.

  “Not ticklish?”

  “No…no…not at all…that feels so nice…” Rose felt her butt scrunch a little lower, strong, firm hands plying one of her feet from toes to ankle. “Yes, they are green. I indulge in a pedicure every couple weeks ‘cause they give heavenly massages…like this…”

  Ryan was positive he was watching gold melt on his sofa. He continued plying the soft flesh, from small green edged toes to the narrow arch and very slender ankle.

  “You were saying? Thoughts about words…” He urged gently.

  “Hmm…I was…” Rose opened one eye, studying him openly. “You have very nice words….and they come out even nicer because of your accent,” she saw his smile sparkle in his eyes. “And then I thought about me practically dead on the running track…what in the world would attract a guy like you to a dead body on a running track? I thought maybe insanity…” She listened to his laughter and sighed. “And I thought of coincidence…that two people without others…just meet…and talk…”

  He listened to the soft groan when he switched feet, her hands flexed at her sides, long slim fingers spreading out as she relaxed.

  “Maybe we got lucky,” he suggested easily.

  “It wasn’t luck that Ms. Alister happened to have this green bauble in her shop, Ryan,” she met his gaze without hesitation. “I didn’t see any jewelry there at all, in fact.”

  “That…I confess…I found this morning while waiting for a meeting to start in a downtown shop,” he told her, shrugging. “For some reason…I knew it would be right for you and wanted you to have it.”

  “It’s very pretty…and it’s not paste, is it?” Rose swallowed hard, one hand rising and touching the shamrock resting in the hollow of her throat.

  “I believe they’re emeralds,” he admitted carefully.

  “I shouldn’t accept it…”

  “Why?”

  “I…it’s very expensive…”

  “A plate of pasta is alright but a necklace isn’t?” Ryan saw her close both eyes again. “There aren’t strings attached to either gift, Rose. I think you know that.”

  Her eyes popped open at the same time she pulled her feet from his hands a
nd shoved them beneath her, kneeling at his side. There had been anger in his voice, laced with the edge of Irish.

  “I never thought you would expect…” She stopped, her head hanging for a moment. “It’s what too much of society has taught girls to think,” she said softly. “It’s…almost automatic…some of us…we’re afraid to accept gifts because of what could be misconstrued. I’m sorry, Ryan. I don’t believe for a minute that’s how you behave.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Which makes my next comment…slightly uncomfortable…”

  “Do tell…” He took a longer, more intimate inventory of her without taking his eyes from hers. Her palms were clasp in her lap, the short dress a little shorter as it rode high along her legs.

  “You might question my motive.”

  “Hmm…you’d have to be willing to take the risk,” he said softly, aware of the tightening in his lower body, aware of the breath he was barely taking.

  “Actually, I’d had this same thought last night after our game. The problem there was I’m not sure either of us had enough breath for a kiss…”

  “It could have been difficult to explain both of us unconscious on the floor of the court,” he agreed with a tiny smile.

  “True…but the thought had seriously been there…”

  “And now?”

  “Well…since I know the urge to kiss you has nothing at all to do with the shamrock, I feel safe in taking action,” she whispered, rising up and sliding onto his lap, her arms around his neck and her mouth covering his when it opened to comment. She felt his hands shift, from the firm position at her waist to a strong, caressing stroke along her sides and onto her back.

  Rose breathed into the kiss, letting her teeth part and her tongue stroke gently over the fullness of his lower lip, drawing it teasingly between her teeth with a nip before melting against him. His arms circled her, drawing her closer and holding her safely against him.

  “I suppose it’s fair that I confess to wanting to kiss you last night,” Ryan whispered when she slid her mouth over the strong line of his jaw. “Breathless and covered in sweat…”